


Comfort Food

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: Arguing about soup seems like a weird way to meet someone, but Clarke's not complaining.Well, she's not complaininganymore.





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: C works at a supermarket and O is sick so B has to go and get O chicken noodle soup (the only good kind that you find at C’s store.) B keeps going back even after O gets better.
> 
> Slightly altered from a supermarket to a cafe/restaurant. :)

Clarke can’t say she’s had too many rude customers. Quiet? Sure. In a rush and not as polite as she would like? Definitely. But not really outright rude. She’s probably in the minority of people in customer facing jobs in that respect.

Largely, she likes to think people can’t really get mad in a restaurant with a name as hokey as The Souperb Spoon. Which isn’t Clarke’s first choice for a shop name, but Niylah has a penchant for quirkiness and she’s the boss. She also lets Clarke have first choice of shifts for the week, since she was the first employee hired, so she can’t complain.

Or she can, just not about Niylah. She thinks she’ll probably be complaining about the disheveled haired man currently at the counter for at least a few days to come.

“Do you have anything that _won’t_ make you sick?” is what he leads with, spitting it out like a challenge.

She’d been finishing bagging an online order when he came in, and hadn’t come over to take his order until he’s had a few moments to glance over the day’s menu.

She’s a little—well, shocked, by the question. Not that she never gets snarky teenagers, but this guy is definitely closer to her age, which leaves the remaining interpretations of “straight up dick” or “dude who flirts through insults and berating comments.”

She’d prefer the former.

Which is luckily what he seems to be. He doesn’t take back the comment when she doesn’t respond right away, but he also doesn’t say anything else and try to turn it into a pick up line. It could be worse, she supposes.

That doesn’t make it any less rude, which is how she justifies replying, “I find the tomato basil is particularly _non_ -gag-inducing. Then again, I’ve never thrown up after eating the potato bacon either.” And because she’s had a long day: “Definitely stay away from the broccoli cheddar though.”

He has the decency to look surprised, but not remorseful. “Jesus Christ, just give me the chicken noodle.”

Reigning in an eye-roll, she nods and ladles out the soup. She’d like to point out that _he’s_ the one making this difficult, but she’d also like to keep her job, so she keeps her mouth shut, save for reading him his total and directing him the briefest, muttered “have a nice day” to which he responds with a neutral grunt.

Once he’s gone, she lets herself collapse against the counter, pushing out a sigh. He really wasn’t that terrible, beyond his first comment, but the lack of apology still has her blood on the brink of boiling. Common decency is a thing. It doesn’t feel like so much to ask. The whole episode has her rethinking her positive review of customer facing employment.

She has to take a breath and remind herself that her boss is fair, her coworkers are cool, and she has regulars she genuinely enjoys.

* * *

She doesn’t expect _him_ to become one of them. A regular, that is. Clearly pending the “genuinely enjoys” part.

He’s back in the shop only three days later, looking slightly less exhausted, his hair still a mess.

Worst case scenario, she thought he might file a complaint, or leave a bad Yelp review. Not that she thinks Niylah would take his word over hers, but still. Best case scenario, she figured she’d never see him again. But here he is, running a hand through his mess of curls as he comes in from the wind.

She didn’t notice the freckles against his tan skin last time.

The thought is fleeting. She’s still prickly from the other day and makes sure she’s ready to take his order right away. It shouldn’t feel like she’s gearing up for a fight when she’s only interacted with him one other time, but it does.

“What can I get for you?”

“Can I get a quart of chicken noodle?”

It’s remarkably polite, given his history. She can’t help it. “It’s edible then?”

He blinks. “What?”

She tries for at least _half_ a smile. He’s still a customer. Maybe he doesn’t remember the way he acted the other day. A luxury she can’t claim herself.

“You seemed a little skeptical about it last time,” she says, hoping it comes out playful and not sharp like she’d like it to be. It probably evens out somewhere near deadpan.

He frowns and she thinks she’s going to get a repeat of three days ago after all. Instead, he just says, “Is that really what you thought I meant?”

She honestly can’t think of another interpretation. “It’s what you said.”

He blows out a breath.

He looks tired, her brain idly notes. When he speaks again, he’s got a half smile of his own. And she’d like her brain to _stop_ idly noting things, because she doesn’t need to find that attractive.

“My sister has the stomach flu. I was looking for something that wouldn’t make it worse.”

Oh.

“You could have clarified,” she says, before her customer service filters catch up. She could be slightly more sympathetic. The high school student Raven is tutoring came down with the stomach bug last week and it sounded pretty rough.

But her messy haired customer doesn’t give her time to amend.

“You could have been less passive aggressive!” he responds, so quickly that she thinks his filters aren’t all in place either.

Unbidden, her lips twitch. “If that’s the way we’re playing it, you shouldn’t have been so angry in the first place. Unless I missed the part where _I’m_ the one who got your sister sick.”

He scoffs. “I wasn’t _angry_. I was in a hurry trying to make sure my sick sister didn’t starve.”

She might imagine it, but she thinks there’s a glint of humor in his eyes, behind the exasperation.

“Drama queen.”

The offended surprise on his face nearly has her dissolving into laughter.

“Don’t laugh,” he accuses, like he can see it on her face. “And how do you know my sister isn’t actually starving? It could have been an emergency.”

She thinks he probably started the question in all seriousness, but she’s grinning at his ridiculous indignance and, by the end, so is he.

“That’s pretty terrible customer service,” he finishes, the effect undermined by the wide smile on his face that sends an unfair jolt of warmth up her back.

“I’m pretty sure if she was on the brink of death you wouldn’t still be here now, arguing with me.”

“Fuck.”

She laughs.

“Checkmate,” she says, cheerful, handing him the soup over the counter.

He takes it and then rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Look, I, uh. I definitely could have been more polite. The other day,” he adds, a little awkwardly.

It’s remarkably easy to shrug off the apology. He was worried and in a rush, and he hasn’t been a jerk this time. More of a snarky asshole, but that’s probably how most of her friends would describe her, so she doesn’t have much room to comment.

“Yeah, so could I,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

And then his grin is back. “To be fair, maybe she had a miraculous recovery and that’s why I have time to argue with you this time.”

“Sure, but then you’d have to admit that you’re here because the soup is good.”

Besides a brief pause, he doesn’t seem phased. “Or because I like arguing. I guess the world will never know.”

She breathes a laugh. “Enjoy the soup.”

“We’ll see,” he says, with a wave as he heads out the door. “Thanks.”

The door chimes shut and when she collapses against the counter this time, it’s to mutter a “fuck” under her breath.

He’s _cute._

_Fuck._

* * *

He keeps coming in after that, and Clarke’s in a mixture of despair and excitement about it. So much so that Monty starts making fun of her for it.

 _Monty_ , who’s been pining over his bartender crush for _months_.

“Shut up. It’s nice to have eye-candy,” she says, defensive.

“Eye-candy that comes in every week when you’re working to argue with you.” Monty grins, “It’s like he was made in a freaky laboratory that specializes in Clarke kinks.”

He’s not wrong, but she’s actively trying _not_ to think about kinks in relation to her new regular.

It’s kind of nice, though, when he comes in. Like stress relief from the rest of her life, except maybe more like stress _replacement_ , because she’s never sure whether she should flirt or be an asshole. She tends to go for the latter, and he seems perfectly happy to do the same. Luckily he’s only yet to come in when Clarke’s working alone, so Monty only gets to make fun of her after she recounts their interactions, instead of experiencing the whole thing, which is probably for the best.

So yeah, maybe she has a bit of a crush. She’s an adult. She’s allowed. It doesn’t feel like anything that could really _happen_ and so it feels… safe, somehow. It’s been a while since Lexa. She can let herself have this.

He never stays long, but he shows up at least once a week to buy a different type of soup. To bring back to his sister, she assumes, because she still can’t get him to admit he actually likes any of it. It’s a nice thing to look forward to—to try to persuade him to try any new soup on the menu if she doesn’t have a line of customers, or just to generally make snarky comments at each other.

She learns quickly that his name is Bellamy and that he always looks a little tired, which is how she comes to ask him about his job. And is subsequently impressed to find out that he works in security at the natural history museum across town, where he also teaches extracurricular history classes once a week.

She thinks he blushes when she tells him as much. It might be the first nice thing she’s said to him.

A few visits later, she has to ask.

“Is your sister still sick?”

“What?”

“Your sister. The second time you came in, you said it was because she was sick.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, like he’s just remembering himself. “No, she’s doing better now.”

“Oh, good. If she was still sick after four weeks and you were only treating it with soup, I was going to suggest seeking some actual medical advice. Not that I’m an expert.”

“I feel like working at a soup restaurant must make you _some_ kind of expert.”

“I’m not sure if telling you I dropped out of med school adds to that illusion of expertise or not.”

He laughs. “And you picked up soup-dealing because you couldn’t bear to be away from some kind of healing resource?”

He’s so fucking adorable.

“ _Healing resource?_ Who says that?” She pauses long enough for him to roll his eyes. “I’ll let Niylah know you think our soup’s healing, though. She’ll be so proud.”

He shakes his head, and she continues.

“But no, I don’t think  _soup-dealing_ is my grand calling or anything, but it helps with taking the _starving_ out of _starving artist_.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

“Cute.”

He grins. “Thanks. So, art?”

She tells him about what she’s been working on, and when she tells him she’s responsible for the cartoony spoons and bowls painted on the walls, as well as their window display, he asks if he can see her other work. Which results in them hovering over her phone, heads close together. She thinks she blushes five separate times when he tells her that it’s “fucking awesome.”

“You know you can stay, right?” she says, after he pays and is turning to go, and then shrugs, trying to play it off. “It’s allowed. We have tables for a reason.”

“I was wondering what those were for.”

“Mystery solved.”

“Cool.” He considers, “I think I’ll stay for a while.”

“What an idea,” she says, mostly so he’ll roll his eyes.

So he does, setting up at a table near the counter and pulling out his laptop and an ancient looking book. She does have actual work to do, but most of it is at the front of the store anyway, so they exchange comments here and there, and he explains a bit of what he’s teaching his students this week. She can’t help noticing that it’s the first time she’s actually seen him eating the soup.

“Oh, Bellamy?” she says, when he actually does have to leave, after returning his empty bowl to the dishes bin.

“Yeah?”

She smiles sweetly. “I’m glad you like the soup.”

He groans. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

And then all of a sudden it’s a _thing._ He comes in and hangs out, chatting with her for a while when she doesn’t have to be in the back and then settles in to do his lesson plans.

She’s in enough control of her life to admit that it’s nice. Really nice, even.

“Wait is that _him_?” Monty asks, nearly scaring Clarke to death the following week when she’s in the back refilling soups. Bellamy’s been there for about an hour, working and mumbling under his breath occasionally while she tries not to be even more endeared.

“What the _fuck_ , Monty?” she says, after nearly dropping the ladle. “When did you get here?”

“Two minutes ago. For my regularly scheduled shift. At the same time I come in every week.” He’s smiling more and more with every sentence.

“Anyways, you know that’s my crush’s best friend right?” he continues, before she can tell him to shut up.

That washes away her embarrassment. Temporarily. “What?”

“Bellamy. He’s Miller’s best friend. I can’t believe you never mentioned his name.”

“Wait,” she says, catching up. “The bartender’s best friend who you and Raven have been trying to set me up with?”

It’s a nice thing they’d been trying to do for her, but she’s been busy with work and commissions. And blind dates kind of freak her out.

“The very same.”

“God, she’s going to be insufferable.”

“Probably.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re appreciating the opportunity here.”

“What do you mean?”

“’ _Our friends have been trying to set us up’_ is the perfect pick up line. It’s virtually risk free. He either asks you out, or laughs it off. Either way you have an answer without showing your hand.”

She doesn’t want to admit he makes a lot of sense. The prospect of how easy it would be to find out how he feels is… terrifying.

“God, you’re worse than Raven.”

“No, I’m not.”

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “Go put on your apron and stop acting like you’re better at crushes than I am.”

Bellamy’s packing up when she finds her way back out the front of the store, so she lets herself off the hook. The timing just isn’t right. Obviously.

* * *

He comes in again a couple days later and she still doesn’t have the nerve to take the leap of asking “Hey, did you know that our friends have been trying to set us up?”

Besides, it’s been going well! Monty needs to get out of her head. She doesn’t feel like she’s going to ask him out any time soon, but she feels like she could get there, eventually. Like she can take it slow.

So she lets herself fall back into their familiar rhythm of light teasing and passing comments when one of them has something interesting to stay. He reads her excerpts from his lesson plans on her break and she gives him feedback on which parts could be more interesting and kid friendly. There’s not many, honestly.

And then he doesn’t come in for a week.

After the third day, she tells herself she isn’t worried. Mostly because it should be true. He could be eating somewhere else, or busy with work. That’s allowed. She doubts it has anything to do with her; they were on good terms the last time she saw him, but still. She misses seeing him.

By the 5th and 6th day, she’s actively thinking about stalking him on the internet. Or, barring that, making Monty ask Miller about him. Neither option is a good one, but her nervous anxiety makes them look dangerously appealing.

Luckily, on the 7th day, Raven shows up to the shop with a girl with long brown hair in tow.

“Hey,” Clarke says, welcoming the distraction. “What’s up? Is this your student?”

“Yep,” her friend says, with a smile Clarke doesn’t trust. “Her brother is sick. And apparently he’s a regular of yours.”

It takes a second for it to click.

Raven mentioned that her student was out with the stomach flu a few weeks back. Clarke blinks and then takes another look at the girl. “You’re Octavia?” The resemblance is there, if vague.

“Give the girl a medal,” Raven says, all cheer.

“You’re the worst.” She’s too distracted to inject much venom into the words.

Bellamy’s sick. It shouldn’t be a relief, but she can’t make herself feel bad about it.

“Bellamy’s always here,” Octavia says, speaking up for the first time. Clarke can already feel Raven’s Cheshire-like grin at ‘ _always.’_ “I figured I could pick up something for him.”

“Yeah absolutely,” she says, pointedly ignoring Raven. “Is it the stomach bug? We probably shouldn’t give him anything too dense.”

“No, it’s just a bad cold. Not that he’ll admit it. He’s only home tonight because his supervisor sent him home for being a stubborn asshole.”

There’s no point in trying not to laugh. And if she wasn’t sure of the relation to Bellamy before, she is now.

“Yeah, that sounds like him. Okay, give me a sec to dish something out. You guys can hang out at one of the tables.”

They leave the counter, but not until Raven waggles her eyebrows. Clarke flips her off a soon as Octavia’s back is turned. _Asshole_.

After bagging the soup, she grabs one of their order cards and turns it over.

“ _Heard this one is edible. Might even help with clogged sinuses,”_ she writes, and before she can talk herself out of it, she adds “ _Feel better soon. The soup misses you. –Clarke”_

She sticks in the bag before bringing it over to Octavia. “It’s on the house if you promise that neither you _or_ Raven will read the note.”

“Why, is it dirty?” Octavia asks, matter-of-fact.

Clarke chokes. Raven cackles. She shouldn’t have said anything.

“What? _Jesus_ , no. Good to know you and your brother have the same lack of filters.”

Octavia gives her an unconvinced look.” Fine, _you_ can read it,” she says. “And it’s free as long as you promise not to let Raven read it.”

“Deal!”

“Traitor,” Raven teases, before grinning at Clarke. “It’s fine. Knowing you’re sending notes is good enough for blackmail.”

“Thanks Clarke,” Octavia says.

And with that, they’re gone, and her world feels a little sideways.

* * *

She doesn’t spend the next few days looking up whenever the door opens. Mostly.

She’s cleaning tables four days later when he comes back, just after the lunch rush has cleared out. She beams when she looks up at the chime of the door to finally see him.

Her arms are around him before she can think better of it.

“You’re back! How do you feel?”

“Hey,” he says, his arms coming around her to return the hug with a squeeze. She can hear the remains of the cold in his voice, scratchy and low. It makes her shiver. “Better. Thanks for the soup.”

She smiles into his neck. “You’re welcome.”

She slides out of his arms, only feeling a little awkward. Most of her is too happy to see him to care.

“I hear you met my sister. And apparently our friends know each other,” he says.

She grins. “I guess a lot can happen in a week.” She can tackle this. She’s mature. “Apparently we could have met a lot earlier, but no one appreciates meeting people the old fashioned way anymore. You know, through heated soup discourse.”

It feels good. Safe. “ _Meeting people_ ” can mean whatever he wants it to.

He only gives half the laugh she’s expecting and her stomach twists a little. “Yeah, well, what do they know?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” she returns, letting it roll off her as well as she can. She always knew there was a possibility he didn’t like her like that. She was prepared or this. She can deal. “Well, I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m not contagious anymore,” he says after a second, looking at her strangely.

She laughs. “Yeah, I figured you’d have the decency not to contaminate my shop.” She turns to go back behind the counter. “Okay, so we have this new cream based soup I think you’re going to—”

He catches her arm before she gets far and she turns back, words dying in her throat at the look in his eyes—like he’s… conflicted about something.

When he doesn’t say anything, she gently loosens his grip on her arm to take his hand, warm and slightly rough, in hers.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had this whole plan to ask you out but now I just want to kiss you,” he says, sudden, like he hadn’t necessarily planned to say it.

She has a vague awareness of her lips parting in surprise.

Before she can lose her nerve, she steps closer, into his space, and swallows.

“I guess you should kiss me then.”

He leans down to her and then pauses, and she’s the one to close the distance, catching his lips to kiss him slow and sweet, and then deeper and hotter when his hands land on her waist and she finally let’s hers wander into his hair, his curls soft between her fingers.

He groans and a breathy laughs escapes her.

He’s the one to pull back and she keeps her eyes closed, a lazy smile at her lips.

“Was that okay?”

“I’ll say yes if you admit our soup is good.”

She feels him laugh and she opens her eyes in case she needs to kiss him again. Then once she’s looking at him, it seems like a waste _not_ to, so she does.

He’s still smiling when they pull apart again.

“Your soup is amazing, Clarke. I didn’t keep coming back just to flirt with you,” he says, running a hand up and down her arm

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. “But mostly, right?”

“Yeah. That was the main incentive.”

“Good.” She kisses his cheek, because she wants to. “I missed you, just so you know. It wasn’t just the soup.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always around on [tumblr](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)!


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